


Bullet Points

by Mithen



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Episode Tag, Frenemies, Gen, Hospitals, Kayfabe Compliant, Minor Injuries, Watching Someone Sleep, exchange treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 08:27:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15626736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithen/pseuds/Mithen
Summary: This is a new Drew Gulak:  focused, vicious, determined.  He doesn't have time to waste on losers like Mustafa Ali.Which really doesn't explain why he's in a hospital room in Chicago.





	Bullet Points

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RedLeaderfic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedLeaderfic/gifts).



Watching Gallagher headbutt Cedric Alexander was amazingly satisfying, Drew Gulak had to admit. He stood above the writhing champion and felt his loyal followers nearby and was filled with a sense of impending triumph. That Cruiserweight championship was practically his. The final slide on the PowerPoint of his career--no, he checked himself sternly. He didn’t do stupid things like goof about PowerPoint anymore. He was done with that. He was going to be champ.

And any minute now, he thought as Jack started to pull Cedric up for more of a beatdown, Mustafa Ali was going to come running out to try and save his stupid friend.

Any moment now, the so-called _heart of 205 Live_ was going to come charging out, and Drew would be able to make _him_ suffer too. Maybe he’d make Cedric watch while he had Jack twist Mustafa into screaming knots, begging for a rescue that never came.

There was a commotion coming down the ramp, and Drew turned, grinning--but it was Drake Maverick and a bunch of referees, yelling at him, getting in his face. _Peons._ Couldn’t they see he was focused on important things, like making sure Cedric wouldn’t be at full before SummerSlam? Like luring out that deluded madman, who’d be here any minute now, he was sure, his eyes blazing, trying to get at Drew once again. Well, Drew was ready for him.

He retreated up the ramp, smirking, waiting for Mustafa to show up in a blaze of righteous fury and try to extract revenge. He’d have Jack hold him in place and then Brian could maybe twist one arm back, slowly, so slowly, until Mustafa’s face contorted in pain and he pleaded with Drew to make the agony stop. He wouldn’t even need to touch him, he’d just watch his face. Maybe, just maybe he’d wipe the tears from his eyes and explain to him that no, the pain wasn’t going to end, that Mustafa was going to have to watch helplessly as Drew won the title and then 205 Live would be his at last, and all the wrestlers in it would be his, to do with as he pleased. The pain was never going to end.

Any second now, Mustafa was going to show up.

* * *

“He didn’t show up,” Drew said. He could hear confusion in his voice and tried to banish it. Confusion was weakness; clarity was strength.

Jack was still helping prop Brian up. “Who?” he said, looking over.

“Ali,” Drew said. “I thought for sure he’d show up to try to help Alexander.”

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” said Jack.

* * *

So apparently Drew was in Chicago now. That was weird. He’d meant to fly home to Philadelphia, but somehow he’d ended up on standby to Chicago. Unexpected.

He frowned and pulled up Google Maps, searching for a hotel. There was a Hyatt just north of downtown that looked good: near some decent restaurants. Some shops. The Northwestern University Memorial Hospital.

Drew Gulak checked into the Hyatt around midnight. His room was quiet, with a great view of the area. The hospital outside his window was a weird conglomeration of a building, with a new shiny wing tacked onto a graceful, classic old building. Drew looked at it for a while, how the clean swooping lines of glass and steel glittered in the dark and the sedate beige stone glowed alongside it.

Eventually he went to sleep. He slept well and dreamed of the Cruiserweight championship, waiting for him.

* * *

“I’m a friend,” he said confidently to the nurse, flashing a smile. She seemed to accept this, probably unable to imagine that someone like Mustafa Ali had enemies, the buoyant jerk. She showed him to Mustafa’s room with a smile, and he slipped inside.

Mustafa was asleep, and so Drew could put off for a moment the question of how he was going to respond when he saw him in his hospital room. The early-morning sun was touching his face and nestling annoyingly in the hair spread across the pillow. Drew sat down next to the bed and watched the sunlight.

“What the _hell_?” He only realized he’d fallen asleep when Mustafa’s angry voice jerked him awake. Maybe he hadn’t slept quite as well as he’d thought.

“Oh, hey,” he said, and almost waved before he realized that probably wouldn’t be appropriate. “I was in the area and…” His voice trailed off. There was really no way to finish that sentence.

Mustafa looked like he’d attack Drew if he weren’t woozy with pain meds. “Thought you’d come by and gloat?”

“Yeah!” That was a good answer. Drew decided to run with it. “Ha, look at you in that dumb hospital gown. Not so high flying now.”

Mustafa’s anger suddenly crumbled into exhaustion and he sank back on the pillow. “I’m sure you’ll be disappointed to hear it’s nothing major. If you hurt Cedric, I’ll still be able to kick your ass.”

It didn’t seem like a good time to mention the beatdown Cedric had gotten last night. Drew reminded himself that he had not technically hurt Cedric. It had all been Jack. “I’ll do what I have to do to win that title,” he said, keeping his voice level.

“I know,” Mustafa said. It sounded oddly damning, the way he said it.

Silence fell for a little while. Mustafa turned his head away from Drew. Drew watched the sunlight some more. Mustafa snored, just a little bit. It would have been cute, if it were someone more well-grounded and less flashy doing it.

“I miss them,” Mustafa said suddenly, with no preamble.

“Huh?”

“I miss your PowerPoint presentations,” Mustafa said muzzily, clearly half asleep. “They made me laugh. I kind of liked them.”

Drew turned over a variety of answers to this ridiculous assertion in his mind. They’d been a distraction. They’d made him a laughingstock. He imagined Mustafa laughing at them backstage. He tried to imagine Mustafa sneering at them, mocking them and Drew. But somehow he couldn’t. Mustafa didn’t laugh like that; he laughed like the sun breaking out, stupidly radiant. 

_They made me weak,_ Drew thought. _I’m strong now._

They’d made Mustafa smile.

He came up with a lot of answers to Mustafa, but by the time he’d narrowed them down into a discrete and manageable list, the kind of that could have fit satisfyingly into a bullet-pointed slide, Mustafa was snoring again.

“I miss them too,” Drew said softly, instead of any of his bullet points.

And then, since there didn’t seem to be much else to say, he got up and left Mustafa to sleep in the sunlight, with that small smile on his face.


End file.
